lips so good i forgot my name
by the boulevard
Summary: 'but if you don't want me now, no boy i don't want you later' / or - Hinata tries to resist Superman. Really, she does.
_an1;_ i have so many stories to update but i am trash so here we go. as usual, i do not own anything because my middle name is broke. and Henry Cavill. wohoho. pre BvS, lois don't know clark is kal. hinata is swedish because idk i love it. post MoS. read, review, follow, favourite. thanks.

* * *

 **lips so good i forgot my name**

 **o1.**

 **i feel so alone on a saturday night**

 **.**

* * *

"You are _really_ going to throw me out of this window?"

"Yeah, sorry, it's just business, you know?"

"No! I do not know!"

"At least it's a sunny day..."

Her face scrunches as her gaze slides to the view outside the window she is being pressed against. The sun shines brightly and the sky is blue, no clouds in sight. A woman walking across the road has a nice pair of nude Louboutins, she notes.

"Ja, yes, it is a _good_ day. But do not kill me - I have children to provide for!" she whines, struggling in the man's grip.

The masked man lets up slightly, no longer pressing her face roughly against the floor-to-ceiling windows she was about to clean, and she turns her head a bit to face him.

"Really? You have children? How many?"

"Okay, I lied. No children. But if you kill me I will not have a chance to have them! Let me go now and I'll get started on those children, ja?"

He shoves her against the window again in response, face pressing on the glass. Her lipstick smudges and she frowns.

"I shpent eighteen dollarsh on zhish lipshtick!" her voice comes out muffled. Her assailant gasps.

 _"Eighteen dollars!_ What brand is it?" He sounds slightly aghast.

"It ish Mac. The matte lipshicks, you know szhem?"

"Oh, good choice. That shade looks very nice on you."

"Shank you!"

"Listen, Gertrude - that's your name, right? You seem like a Gertrude."

"My name ish not Gershrul!" she shrieks, cheeks bright pink and face indignant.

"Then what is it?"

He pulls her face away from the glass, giving her a chance to speak. She works her jaw, dark hair strewn across her face. Her pale eyes narrow, casting him a dirty look.

"It is Hinata. My name is Hinata."

The man nods, head bobbing up and down.

"That's a nice name. Where is it from?"

"It is a Japanese name," she says, after spitting strands of her long hair from her mouth.

"You're from Japan? You don't look or sound Japanese."

"No, no, I am from Sweden. My illegitimate father was, um, one eighth Japanese I think. Why are we discussing this? Let me go!" She stomps a white tennis shoe on the hardwood floor.

"No can do, Hinata. I would like to let you go, since you seem nice enough, but you've stumbled across something you shouldn't have."

 **.**

 **.**

 **(forty-two minutes ago)**

Hinata has a problem; she's _broke._

"So you'll do it, yeah? Take Amy's shift? I would do it, but, like, I'm doing something else," Karen had said, popping her gum. She waved a badly manicured hand around, the bright yellow artificial nails capturing Hinata's attention for a bit. Little plastic jewels glint from the overly long nails, winking at Hinata - she looked down at her own shorter nails, baby blue polish not yet chipped. She frowned; wondered if the talons are a trend, wondered how Karen actually manages to get anything done.

"-nata? You gonna do it or nah?"

"Sorry? Repeat it, please."

Karen had sighed, leaned her tall frame against the wall and folded tan arms. Her blue eyes rolled, bright yellow shadow to match her nails exposed with the motion.

"You'll take Amy's shift for me, right? _Apparently_ she's _sick_ today-" another blue eye roll, "-but I just think her boyfriend hit it too hard, know wha'am sayin'?"

"Hit _it_ too hard? Hit _vat?"_ Hinata had then bit her bottom lip, trying to understand what Karen was saying.

"They banged. Did the do. The horizontal tango, tapping ass, mattress dancing, an act of darkness, assault with a friendly weapon, bouncy-bouncy, doing the nasty, exploring punarnia, hanky panky, joint session of congress, launching the meat missile, opening the gates of Mordor, quimsticking, rumbusticating, shaboinking, tube snake boogey, whittling the love branch, zig-zagging, bad manners, the bid ole S-E-X, y'know?" Karen had coupled the words with gestures, eyes focused on Hinata.

"I-I understand it," she had nodded, an expression of disgust on her face and cheeks bright red, standing up with her pale pink uniform settling above her knees. "I will do Amy's shift. It is no problem. Haha."

Turning away from Karen, who was popping her gum with resolution, she loaded the cart with cleaning supplies, fresh sheets, and turned to the door. The tall brown-haired girl was running a hand through her hair, the other hand holding up a compact to see her reflection. "Thanks, yeah," Karen said, rubbing glossy purple lips together.

Hinata had just been happy to leave the room, cart pushed ahead, dress swishing around her thighs.

And this had brought her to room 204, sixth floor, rumpled sheets, bag of money.

She had unlocked the door and stepped in, pulling the cart along. Retrieving new sheets, she had made the bed in record time - replacing sheets, airing the duvet, smoothing out any wrinkles. And then came the bathroom. Blood in the sink. Blood on the white counter. Blood splattered on the mirror. She set to scrubbing the sink, bleaching the counter and wiping down the mirror. Record timing, she noted, one of her personal bests.

Walking out of the bathroom, she retrieved a vacuum from the cart and plugged it in, the noise drowning out others. Passing the vacuum under the bed had led her to hitting a solid object and she had bent down, fishing around until she pulled out a black duffel bag. A suspicious duffel. Hinata, being smart, had left it alone. Turning the vacuum on was a big mistake, because a hand - gloved, of course, and very large - had covered her mouth, muffling her shrieks, and the other hand wrapped around her body, grip tight.

 **.**

 **.**

"No, no stumbling done. What is a stumbling?"

Hinata laughs nervously, eyes trained on the busy street below the hotel. No one notices her body pressed against the glass and she groan, tears threatening to fall.

"If it were another situation, I would have assumed you are blind, because of these creepy eyeball things you have in your skull. But seeing as you have cleaned this room properly, have no cane, and have focused eyes, it is obvious you can see. Therein lies the problem; you can see. You have surely seen something you are not supposed to."

"I am blind if you want me to be!"

A sigh, and then the man steps back with her wrists in his tight hold. He shoves her on the bed she had just made and the white bedding wrinkles. She huffs and sits upright, focusing on the man in front her. He is not that tall, but he is thick and dressed in all black, a ski mask covering his head and sunglasses covering his eyes. He shifts suddenly and she flinches, brick red lips pulling into a grimace. Rope bites into her wrists, rubbing the skin. They will be raw, she can tell, but she will only worry about that if she survives.

"So, Hinata, since I will throw you out of this window very soon, and you will die, why don't I tell you my agenda?" He puts his hands to his hips and she notices the gun clasped in one hand.

"Can you let me go and this will not leave my lips?"

Assailant shakes his head, letting out a noise of disappointment. "You _know_ I can't do that. Now, story time. There was once a boy named.. uh.. we'll call him Mike for now. Cool? Yeah. So, Mike liked money. Still does. So Mike took a large amount of money from some rich old guy and hid in a hotel, because that's just how it's done."

Mike waves the gun around, emphasising his point. This must be a dream, Hinata thinks, sniffing and watching the metal.

"Are you paying attention?" he walks forward and taps her head with the gun. She sobs, mascara running down her fiery cheeks.

"Now, now, Hinata," he says, pulling out a tissue from his pocket and wiping her eyes, "no need to cry. It's not going to make anything better."

"I do not want to die! Hund! Kyckling! Undernärda gås!"

The pistol hits her across the face, splitting her lip and reddening her cheek. Her head turns to the side and her hair flies with the motion. She can feel the blood run down her chin and stain her uniform. Blood, blood. Blood stains are hard to get out she knows. He grips her chin and squeezes, turning her head to face him.

"See, Hinata dear, if you just listen and shut up this can go more smoothly," he uses the tissue to wipe at her lip and chin, smudging the blood. A tongue click and another squeeze of her jaw. "Do you have more of this pretty lipstick?"

She nods and slides her gaze to her apron where he fishes the tube out and checks the colour.

"Ohh, Ruby Woo. What a catchy name."

He removes the cap and rolls it out, bending his torso to come closer to her face. She closes her eyes and whimpers as he presses the tube to her lips, applying it with focus. A sob hitches in her chest and he moves back to admire his work.

"There, there. Better than before."

Mike drums his fingers against his stocky thigh, sitting down in the couch across from her with another troubled sigh. Hinata's top lip trembles as tears spill over her cheeks. "Very rude," she mumbles, sniffing. Mike tilts his head. Hinata can imagine his exasperated expression. She thinks his face is pudgy and that is why he wears a mask. Must have beady eyes and a large nose she can aim for. He must be bad with women and that's why he wants the money.

"What do you want the money for?" she asks, raising her nose in spite.

"To get babes. And buy an Aston Martin. And an island. A boat would be nice, too." If she was a girl he knew she would abandon ship, she thinks spitefully. Only desperate girls would go after Mike. Not girls like Karen, she thinks. Maybe girls like Amy who's boyfriend hits _it_ too hard.

"Amy," she hisses.

"Huh?"

"If Amy's boyfriend had not hit _it_ too hard, then I would not be here! Next time he should hit _it_ less!"

Mike bursts into laughter and Hinata's mouth closes. She shouldn't dwell on the past, she realises. She should dwell on whether she is being thrown out of a window or not.

He claps his hands together, laugh dying down. "Whoo, child, you are a great laugh. But it's time to throw you out this window."

He holds her by the shoulders and yanks her up while she struggles, kicking at his shins.

"Let me go, you moose! I just got some Mac that I have not worn! Bjorn, my son, I am so sorry!" She shrieks as they near the window, and when he takes one hand off of her shoulder to use his gun, she stomps on his foot and dashes for the door - only to trip on the duffel bag and fall face-first to the floor. Letting out a whine and a sob, she flails her limbs as Mike grabs her legs, dragging her to the window.

"Sorry, kid. I have no other choice. Maybe if things were different we would have become friends. At least you'll die with your lipstick in place," he huffs over her yelling and sobbing, reach the window with her ankles in his grasp.

"Please! _Help! Help!_ Let _go_ of me you duck!"

Mike steps on her back and grabs her shoulders once more, the air escaping her chest in a hoarse cry. with a firm grip on her, he shoots the window with the gun and pulls her along, moving his head to whisper in her ear.

"Hopefully the death will be instant, kid. And, if you're lucky, Superman will catch you, yeah?" He chuckles and shoves her out of the window, glass shattering around her form as it hurtles down from the sixth floor. She can see the blue sky, the clean windows of the hotel, people shouting down below and _is that Karen texting?_ And, right across the street, she sees the Daily Planet; Lois Lane gathered in Superman's arms as he saves her from some sort of peril.

Then there's a thud, glass shatters, and she closes her pale eyes.


End file.
